Entangled Destinies
by Blood Crescent
Summary: Eragon goes to Helgrind with Roran, Arya and Saphira to rescue Katrina, but there is a twist at the black mountain. Galbatorix is assaulting Surda with a mysterious Shade in command. Meanwhile, Murtagh discovers something strange about Galbatorix.
1. Awakening

**Chapter 1**

**Awakening**

_Murtagh and Eragon duelled under a bloody red sky. Eragon was forced to spin his sword in every conceivable manner as Murtagh slashed with Zar'roc in the most complex patterns. Slowly, his arms grew heavy and his energy diminished. Finally, with one lazy flick of his wrist, Murtagh sent Eragon's sword spinning out of his hand to land about six feet away and knocked him to the ground simultaneously._

_The next moment Zar'roc's tip rested on Eragon's chin, causing a thin line of warm blood to trickle down his neck. Murtagh said in a slow voice, "Join me, brother."_

_Eragon replied defiantly, "Never."_

_Murtagh said in the same slow voice, but with a tinge of emotion in it, "Then you leave me no choice."_ _He slashed with Zar'roc at Eragon's neck and…_

Eragon woke up with beads of perspiration on his face. Once again, the terrible truth crashed down upon him, that he was the son of none other than the first and last of the Forsworn – Morzan. _Why, Saphira, why does it have to be so? Why does it have to be him, of all the people in Alagaesia? The one who betrayed the Dragon Riders to Galbatorix himself!_

_Peace, little one. Who your father is does not change who you are. Remember what Nasuada and Arya said yesterday? You have a good heart. The identity of your father will not change that. _

_I understand, Saphira, but I would rather be the son of any person in the whole of Alagaesia rather than __him__. I would even welcome that tyrant king himself to be my father rather than Morzan._

_Eragon! _Saphira exclaimed. _You must start facing the truth with courage instead of running away from it. Do not waste your thoughts on wishful thinking. The fate of Alagaesia rests on our shoulders. The Varden cannot have their Rider sinking into depression._

_You are right again, Saphira. I promise that I will try not to think about Morzan and Murtagh, and do my best to help the Varden no matter what my lineage be. _

_Now you are speaking like a true Rider! Get up immediately, it's nearly nine. Your cousin has been waiting for you since six. Let's not test his patience any longer._

Eragon laughed. _Yes, let's not._

He got up, quickly donned his elven tunic, straightened his hair and walked out of his tent. Roran was pacing up and down restlessly, frowning irritably. On seeing Eragon, he quickly walked towards him, saying, "Good morning, brother. How have you been?"

"Morning, Roran," he said moodily, still in a bad mood.

Then Roran said, a bit accusingly, "When are we going to rescue Katrina? We should leave as quickly as possible. Her chances of dying multiply every second we leave her to the mercy of those…those desecrators."

"We'll leave as soon as possible, brother. I have to take permission from my liege to go."

"Then do it quickly!"

"Alright, but I have something else to do before that," he said suddenly, remembering Elva.

"What?" Roran asked, still with a shade of annoyance. "What could be so important?"

"Why don't you come and see yourself? It isn't easy to explain it, and all I'll succeed in doing will be to confuse you."

Roran gave him an exasperated glare, but grunted and followed him anyway.

Just then, a pageboy approached him timidly, and said, "Argetlam, Lady Nasuada seeks an audience with you immediately, if you are free."

_I'm always free for her,_ Eragon told Saphira, amusedly. _She must know that._

To the pageboy, he said, "Alright. I'm coming in a minute. Where is she?"

The pageboy pointed to a large tent in the distance, and said, "There, Shadeslayer."

"Thank you. You may go now."

Eragon walked to the tent, and asked Saphira, _Why do you think she wants to see us?_

_I don't know. It could be anything._

Eragon entered the tent, Roran following him. Saphira, being too large, stuck her head inside through the flaps.

Nasuada sat on a wooden chair, deep in discussion with Arya, who was also present.

"My Lady, you called me?" Eragon asked respectfully.

Nasuada looked up, and said, "Ah, good. Good morning, Eragon. We were just discussing you. So, what are your plans for now?"

"My Lady, with your permission, I want to go to Helgrind to rescue my cousin's fiancé. She was captured by the Ra'zac in Carvahall, and they have imprisoned her in Helgrind. Also, we will try our best to destroy the Ra'zac too. With this, we will be rid of some formidable foes too." He tried to make his answer as convincing as possible, for Roran's sake.

Nasuada thought about it for a minute, her almond eyes sinking into thoughtfulness. After a long time, she finally said, "Very well, you may go, but you must take Arya with you. She is an experienced swordsperson, and is adept at magic as well. She will keep you safe."

"As you say, Nasuada." He looked at Arya, who stared back at him with her usual impassivity and inscrutability.

"One more thing, my Lady. I must heal Elva today. Would you like to come and watch? Perhaps you would come too, Arya Svit-Kona?" he asked deferentially.

"Yes, certainly. I suppose you will come too, Arya?" Nasuada said.

Arya replied, "Yes, I certainly will. When are you going to heal her?"

Eragon said firmly, "Now."

"Are you sure it will be within your limits? We cannot afford to lose you," Arya said.

"I think so. Besides, Saphira can lend me her strength too."

"Alright, then."

He slowly, but firmly walked out of the tent went to Angela's tent, followed by Roran, Saphira, Arya and Nasuada. Taking a deep breath, he pulled apart the flaps and resolutely walked inside, to offset the curse that had given him so many sleepless nights.


	2. A Curse Lifted

Angela the witch was present inside, sitting on a couch, with Solembum the werecat crouching comfortably beside her. But the main object of Eragon's attention, Elva, was lying down on the bed, her violet eyes shining with anticipation, the dragon-mark on her forehead dazzling.

This surprised Eragon, and he began to suspect that the dragon-mark was a sign of her emotions; whenever she felt strongly about something, it shone brightly. _Basically, it is a modified version of my Gedwey Ignasia. Whenever I use magic or feel a sense of foreboding or elation, it glows too, _he commented to Saphira.

_Right you are._

On seeing him, Angela approached him fiercely and said, "So, the errant Rider makes an appearance at last. What delayed you so long, eh? Do you have any idea how badly that poor girl had to suffer, and all because of _your_ mistake, _Shur'tugal_?"

"Yes, and I do feel very sorry about it, Angela. I am now going to heal her, to relieve her of all her suffering and give her a new life."

"Now? Well, that is good of you. However, you must never forget that all the pain Elva has suffered was due to you, even when she is healed."

"I would have to be the meanest person in Alagaesia, to do so."

Saying so, Eragon slowly walked over to Elva. When he looked into those violet eyes, he once again felt a pang of guilt and sorrow.

_Do you think I can do this?_ he asked Saphira, doubt suddenly shooting through him.

_Do not worry. I will augment your strength with my own reserves of energy. You have to do this. You cannot shy away from your duties._

Comforted by her words, Eragon turned to Elva once more, and said to her, "Lie down. I am going to put you to sleep. When you wake up again, all this will be over. The second part of your life is about to begin."

Elva immediately lay down, with a barely suppressed enthusiasm.

Eragon placed his palm on her forehead, and said, "Slytha." Elva's eyes closed, and she began to sleep peacefully.

Eragon was breathing deeply, readying himself for the spell. Arya, Nasuada, Angela and Roran leant forward in their seats, interestedly.

_Ready, Saphira?_

_As always._

Eragon delved into his mind, allowing the magic to envelop him completely. He repeated the selected words in his mind, making sure that they were correct, for he knew that if he made a mistake again, Elva, Angela, Saphira and even he himself would never forgive him. His eyes burned with a strange blue glow, and his hands started vibrating. The power flowed through his veins, filling him with energy. In the ancient language, he said, "Se du feiknstaf fram ono waise heill. Atra gulia un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waise skoliro fra rauthr." As the words escaped his lips, energy drained from his body at such a fast rate that even Saphira was alarmed. She rushed to his side, bolstering him with her own energy.

Eragon felt better when Saphira lent him her energy, but he knew that he was going to pass out soon. He could tell this by the darkness clouding his eyes, and the exhaustion clouding his mind.

He was relieved that a part of his duties was finally complete. Elva was now free from the curse that _he_ had placed on her. She could finally lead a normal life. However, he saw that the dragon-mark Saphira had gifted her was still present. It now glowed with blinding light.

_She must be really exhilarated._ Then, after all, she had a good reason to. A very good reason.

Elva was completely different from before now. Her violet eyes had reverted back to their deep blue, and her face had a childish, sweet look. Her eyes and face gleamed with elation. Most of all, the terrible, _knowing_ look on her face had vanished. She finally looked what she actually was - a sweet two-year old.

Elva shook her head confusedly. She placed her little palms on her temple, gasping now and then, taking deep, gulping breaths as if she had been underwater for a long time.

She was muttering incoherently to herself. Suddenly, Eragon felt her contact his mind, which surprised him since she was only two, and he had never expected her to be able to do that. But then, again, after all she had endured, he would never guess what hidden powers she could have. Her gratitude and surprise washed over him, and he felt relieved that she was finally healed.

_Do not thank me. It was only my duty,_ he replied to her in his mind.

He could tell, by the blackness obliterating the corners of his vision, that he was not going to stay conscious for long. The last thing he saw before falling senseless was Roran, Arya and Nasuada rushing towards him worriedly.

But, deep in his mind, he finally felt relaxed, having completed one of his infinite obligations.

The curse had been lifted.


	3. To the Varden

The rays of the morning sunlight reflected on the lake's tranquil surface, giving it a mystical, dazzling look. The elf meditated calmly on the banks of the lake. Slowly, he opened his eyes and got up in a single fluid movement. He walked to the edge of the lake and stared at his reflection in the undisturbed water.

He saw a young face, with angled features, and deep blue eyes. Long, straight black hair reached the edge of his neck, curling slightly at the end. He wore a thin silver band to hold it back from obscuring his face. He saw a slim body, with a trace of muscle in his limbs.

Bending down, he picked up a small pebble from the ground, and tossed it into the lake. He watched as the previously undisturbed surface distorted with ripples, which gradually merged into the clear water, returning to the smooth sheen of water once again.

Just then a voice called out from behind him, "Come on, Aesir! We must start again! We must hurry if we are to reach the Burning Plains in time!"

He replied, "Coming, Vanir."

Aesir turned away and walked back to the camp they had set up near the Tudosten lake. He was one of the twelve spellcasters sent by the Queen Islanzadi to aid the Varden, and protect the Shadeslayer.

He was considered one of the most powerful spellcasters among the elves, which was no mean feat. Not only that, he was also one of the most formidable wielders of the blade, and his accuracy with the bow was equally high. This was the reason he had been selected by the Queen. However, he had never been able to surpass his closest friend, Vanir, in either of his skills. Vanir was, therefore, unanimously the leader of the group.

He mounted his noble steed, Ellidan and said, "Ganga," in the ancient language, meaning "Go." Ellidan started trotting at a medium pace. The other elves were beside him, on their own horses, all going at the same pace. It was an impressive display of co-ordination and power, with twelve noble elves, all on snow-white steeds, with swords hanging from their waists, bows from their shoulders, and quivers slung to their backs. The systematic sound of the horses' hooves added to the show.

Soon, the morning turned into the bright hours of the afternoon, and the sun shone down on the company. By now, they had crossed the borders separating Alagaesia from Surda, and were past Petrovya. Still the kept on riding, their pose never changing, though sweat rolled down their cheeks, their speed constant. By evening, they had reached the outskirts of Cithrí.

They camped on the city's outskirts, giving themselves and their horses, a well-deserved rest. Aesir dismounted smoothly, and once again sat down peacefully on the ground, contemplating what had happened to him in the past few weeks.

He remembered his peaceful days in Ellesmera, spent sparring, practicing magic, making fairths and exploring the forests, searching for adventure. Because of this, the elf had discovered many things that no other elves knew about, hidden paths in the forest, secret lakes in undiscovered clearings; all was exposed to his perceptive gaze.

Aesir had always been the adventurous type, so he had jumped at a chance to join the spellcasters sent to the Varden, also called Du Arget Oro, or the Silver Arrow. He remembered his duels with Vanir, his best archery practice when he had sent thirty-six bolts into the centre of the target within a minute and his fairth of a hidden lake surrounded by a ring of pines, with a small island in the centre, its surface obliterated by more trees, taken from an aerial view. The surface of the lake had been completely tranquil, calm, and the air had been unnaturally still.

Then he remembered the sparring competition held to select the best twelve swordspersons among the elves. He had reached the final round of that competition, only to lose to Vanir. The duel had been ferocious, and had lasted for nearly four hours. He also recalled the competition held to determine the elves most skilled at gramarye, and how he had lost, again, in the finals, to Vanir.

Then he went further backwards in his life, remembering his first meeting with Vanir, his friendship with him, the arrival of Princess Arya with the blue dragon egg, which had failed to hatch for him then…he remembered the disappointment he had felt after that…the eagerness which possessed him then to enhance his skills…He remembered Islanzadi's rage when Arya had disappeared, and her guards supposedly slain.

The young elf then remembered the arrival of the Shadeslayer in Ellesmera, and his stay there. However, as had never met him in person, he did not spend much time thinking about him. He remembered the Agaeti Blodhren, the Blood-Oath celebration, and his gift to the Celebration – a series of fairths depicting the gradual growth of a tree as he sang to it in the ancient language, and another depicting the gradual emergence of a stream from a gap between two hills.

Aesir went further back, remembering his family – his mother and father, slain in the Fall, and his elder brother, his rashness, a part of which he himself possessed too, and how he had decided to climb one of the great mountains of Du Weldenvarden, how he had slipped from one of the precipices, and fallen down, down, down in one of the rivers that originated from the pass in the mountains…his body had never been found…he shuddered again at that thought, even though the memory of it had almost faded away…he had never forgotten the terror he had felt when he had seen him fall.

He had been raised as an orphan by a widow in Ellesmera whose husband had been killed in the Fall of the Riders. She had died nine years ago due to a strange disease which slowly consumed her, year by year, unless she finally succumbed to it. Since then, he had lived alone.

They began the journey again next morning. They were nearing their destination with every second. At the end of the day, they had passed Dauth and were camped about fifteen miles from the city. The Varden were expected to be reached by the next afternoon.

Aesir sat down again, with nothing to think about. He tried to foresee what would happen once he reached the Varden. He had never seen any of the Varden so far, except for Brom and Eragon Shadeslayer, and he had never spoken to either of them.

He decided to practice sword moves to get rid of his boredom. He unsheathed his graceful, slim sword and settled into a defensive pose. He was about to leap forward and start slashing with his sword when Vanir called, "Need a partner, Aesir?"

Aesir replied, "I would be honoured."

Vanir walked forward, his face expressionless. He drew his sword and settled into his pose.

Neither of them moved as they unblinkingly watched each other for any sign of movement. Vanir's black eyes locked with his blue eyes as he crossed the distance between them in a single graceful leap, with the speed of a panther, slashing with his sword.

Aesir blocked it with a twist of is blade, and counterattacked, slashing at Vanir's left flank. Vanir blocked the blow and, lowering his head, tried to butt him with his head. Aesir rolled away and got up in an instant, kicking at Vanir's stomach. He missed however, and nearly lost his balance.

The next moment, Vanir's blade was swinging at his chest with blinding speed. With extreme reflexes, he parried it, spinning away and swinging his sword at Vanir's knees. Vanir jumped five feet high to avoid the blow, and thrusted his sword at Aesir's forehead.

Aesir ducked and tried to sweep out Vanir's legs from under him with a powerful kick, succeeding partly as Vanir lost his balance, swaying precariously. He regained his balance, however, just in time to block the next blow from Aesir. As he parried, he spun away simultaneously, jabbing at Aesir's right side.

Aesir dodged and spun his blade in a circle, moving forward with lightning speed. Vanir held his blade firmly to parry the blow, and at the end of the first blow, anticipating Aesir's next move, ducked, and slashed his sword at Aesir's knees.

Aesir's knees buckled out from under him, and, losing his balance, fell on the ground. The next moment, the tip of Vanir's blade rested on his neck.

After a moment, he sheathed his blade and pulled Aesir up. "That was a good duel," he said.

"Yes, indeed."

"You're getting better. You have improved a lot since we first duelled."

"Practice is the key," Aesir replied, smiling.

"True. Well, you should go to sleep. It's getting late and we must preserve our energy, bountiful as it may be."

"Aye."

The spellcasters moved on early the next morning. The landscape flew past as the elven horses galloped. By late morning, the tents of the Varden were visible in the distance. The banner bearing the Varden's symbol flapped in the centre of the settlement, and shouts echoed in the distance. A majestic sapphire dragon rested in front of one of the tents.

They had reached their destination – the Burning Plains.


End file.
